


Yetzirah

by hitlikehammers



Category: Lost, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-01 02:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/351105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitlikehammers/pseuds/hitlikehammers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An encounter of destiny, at the turn of the tide. <b>General Series Spoilers through Season Six of Lost; General Series Spoilers through Season Six of Supernatural.</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Yetzirah

**Author's Note:**

> *sigh* I really hope that this makes some semblance of sense.

It is simple: the Dagger must be retrieved.

He walks, stalks through green and beige and gold, the measures and gives of the universe bending around him in strange patterns, yielding to his Light with a caress of its own, and it is unnatural, it is unprecedented.

Castiel feels close to Home, for the first time in eons.

His errand is one of haste, of necessity: Abraham’s Dagger, the weapon of Zadkiel; it possesses, exudes the power to pardon, and likewise to condemn -- it is a worthy ally in the war to come, and Castiel will have it in his arsenal, will have it within the possession of his Own; will not allow it to be used against them.

They need all of the help they can get.

He finds it, feels it call to him with the voice of a brother, a friend: he lets the song calm him, restore him, collect him close and blanket him for a moment, for all of the time that the universe can spare before he plummets below the earth and once again prepares to save the righteous from a devil.

What he finds is novel, is unique: and that, in itself, within his own vast experience of human failings and triumphs, is a wonder.

The demon spills in tails of smoke outside the crying eyes of a man in the dark, overcome, and Castiel can see his soul, can see its fragments and tatters, what’s left still after too long beneath this hold, and he would weep, weep if he could, for the suffering, the loss.

Zadkiel, Angel of Freedom -- all the wretch desired was to leave of his own will.

Castiel approaches him, and the Creature cowers at his Light, sensitive to the cosmic spectrum beyond Sight and Sound; Castiel does not speak, walks with his palms raised and his eyes wide, slow: his intentions bare.

The Creature cradles the weapon in his hands, close to his breast like a beloved, as if his mind has betrayed him to terrible ends, and Castiel kneels, places a hand upon flesh that does not burn, does not break. The Creature grips tightly to its prize, its charge, but Castiel cannot yield.

The tears that fall when he pries away that charge, that hold -- they stir something deep in Castiel’s resolve; Zadkiel, Angel of Benevolence -- He guides the coming course.

 _Son of Claudia_ , he breathes beyond the veil, watches as it shivers through the demon and soothes through the man; _the Kingdom absolves you._

The Creature crumbles, eyes brimming and soft, decimated in a single pass, and Castiel knows nothing else, has learned nothing else but to draw the man close to him, to lay a hand upon his stubbled cheek and lean in, breathe soft of air he does not need and press forth -- to exhale forgiveness and touch lips in gentle need on the eve of battle, at the turn of the tide.

Zadkiel, Angel of Mercy. In his memory, then, Castiel shows the same.


End file.
